Hora Mortis Nostrae
by pyrrhicvictoly
Summary: Staring Death in the face was like looking into a mirror, except he had better hair. Pre-series, set during Duo's time with the Sweepers. Rated for language.


**A/N:** Duo = religious blasphemy. I just kicked it up a notch. This is a character study. It's not meant to endorse any views on religion/politics/what-have-you, though it touches on controversial topics and might be offensive.

With the exception of L2-V08744, Duo's home colony, the names of the other colonies mentioned in this fic are made up, following the canon naming scheme: colony cluster letter + date of completion. For example, L2-V08744 was completed in AC 87 and L3-X18999 was completed in AC 189. (Yes, I'm a dork who likes to research canon tidbits before writing.)

* * *

_I confess to almighty God, to blessed Mary ever Virgin, to blessed Michael the Archangel, to blessed John the Baptist, to the holy apostles Peter and Paul, and to all the saints that I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word, and deed, through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault._

-oOo-

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It's been a couple of days since my last confession. When we came back from our gig in the L4 colony cluster and the ship docked at L2-V17535, I was told to disembark and help scout out some parts from among the locals, do some trading while we fueled up, yadda yadda. Business as usual. Yeah, then I kinda got into a brawl and ended up punching this guy's teeth out. I also called him a fuckin' asswipe who could fuckin' take that dipstick and shove it up where the artificial sun don't shine, then weld the cover shut, because then maybe he'd learn a thing or two about trying to swindle a Sweeper mechanic. We know when the stuff is made of cheap alloys, being master salvagers and all. Am I right, guys?"

A chorus of whoops and catcalls resounded from the men around him. They were in the Sweeper ship's rec room, a bunch of grunts still in their greasy overalls, chugging beer and shooting pool on the wobbly three-legged table in the corner.

It was early evening, or what passed for such a time out in the colonies, where any semblance of day, night, and weather patterns was regulated by machinery.

The Sweepers themselves were a rough bunch. Although they were joined by a few scientists and businessmen in the upper ranks, the rest were mostly grunts. They were blue collar workers who spent half their time on colonial junkyards and the other half floating around in space, hauling in debris or shipping out recycled materials. For them, even artificial sunlight was a luxury. You didn't get that out in space, in the Sweeper cruisers, which were built for heavy duty transport rather than comfort.

But here it was downtime. They were docked at the shipyard for business, which meant the men had a few days to rest their sea legs, or space legs, as it were. And the center of attention was, as usual, Duo Maxwell, sitting on the arm of the couch and gesturing wildly.

The cheerful, boisterous boy was dressed like a Catholic priest - that is, if Catholic priests were fond of overly long, braided hair and devilish grins. Odd as it might seem, this was his usual attire, and the other Sweepers had gotten used to it.

Encouraged by their warm reception, Duo continued. "While I was out in town, I also used most of my last paycheck to stuff my face on actual food, by which I mean 'everything that wasn't a dusty ration bar'. Did you guys know there's actually a Chinatown in this place? Like hell I was gonna pass that up! Man, these newer colonies are great! Nothing like the dump I grew up in..."

"Wait a minute, kid. Where _did_ you come from?" Frankie Ramirez, a newer member of the crew, turned away from the TV to ask his spunky co-worker. Frankie was a young man who almost always had a laid-back smile on his face. He had applied for the job right out of high school, so he had been expecting to be the youngest member of the Sweepers when he joined. It came as a surprise to see that they had recruited this scrawny kid, Duo, who barely looked like a teenager. Chances were, he thought, that Duo was one of the others' bastard son or something, who had nowhere else to go.

'Nowhere else to go' was right, but Duo couldn't for the life of him remember anything about his parents. It was just one of those things that the street kids didn't like to dwell too much on. Maybe they had been abandoned, or maybe their parents had died in an Alliance raid. Shit happened and then you moved on. It was all right as long as you were still alive; that was Duo's philosophy.

Duo grinned back and stretched out on the couch, putting his feet on the coffee table in front of him. His eyes seemed to be saying to Frankie, who sat at the other end of the couch, 'You'll never guess'.

"Come on, Duo. Try me."

"Yeah? Okay, then. Home sweet home is the shithole known as V08744."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, ouch. Y'know, some of the old folks there are still going on about it being the Pride of 87! First built and forever first among the L2 colonies!" he gestured sarcastically. "But the truth is, after the epidemic, and with the Alliance base being there, it's become a bullet-riddled pile of rust that's gonna fall out of the sky one of these days." Duo shrugged, swiped another handful of popcorn from the coffee table, and shoved it into his mouth.

"So you decided to join the Sweepers, then? Aren't you a bit young for this?"

At this point, a gruff voice interjected. "You don't remember how we found this brat as a stowaway?"

It was Russell, known as Big Russ, one of the lead mechanics. He was a large man a bit of a paunch and a salt-and-pepper mustache. He came up behind Duo, leaning down over the couch to slap the boy's shoulder.

Duo threw the older man another cheeky grin. "Frankie's new. He wouldn't know about that."

"Christ, Duo! You're new, too!"

"I _am not_! I've been here for two full years! Count 'em - two!"

"So you were _twelve_ when you joined? Don't they have child labor laws or something?" Frankie whistled in amazement.

"What can I say? I was a genius. Still am."

"Modest, too, I see."

Although he quirked an eyebrow up at the sarcasm, Duo let it roll off. "Exactly. Besides, what are you worried for? Ain't like Child Services guys are coming to get me. The day the Alliance starts caring about war orphans is the day I run off to join the clergy for real."

"Well, hey, I'll adopt you. I've always wanted a little brother."

Frankie flashed him a smile, and it was all sincerity and too-white teeth. Duo liked Frankie; he really did. They could have made awesome brothers if things weren't so messed up. Duo could see the two of them tearing up the streets and having a good time together, working hard, partying hard, and bonding over machine blueprints. It was just that it was dangerous for him to get close to anyone. He snorted ruefully and shook his head.

"Nah. Thanks, but no thanks. If I ever got around to filling out those forms, I'd be considered an emancipated minor. Anyway, enough about the past! I'm confessing here! Ahem. Then I had lustful thoughts. Oh, I had lots of those, especially when it was just me and Mrs. Palmer in the shower..."

"That's disgusting, kid. Those are _communal_ showers." It was Russ again, ever the antagonist.

"Hey, I only do that when I'm on graveyard shift! It's not like anyone was in there with me! And where else was I supposed to let it out? In the _communal_ bunkhouses? Yeah, I'm lookin' at you, McCormick. We can hear you." Duo raised his voice so that the man over at the pool table was sure to hear him.

"Fuck you!" The reply was followed up by a rude gesture with the pool cue. "You still on about your little confession shit, ya little punk? Since you're the 'priest' here, shouldn't we be confessing to you?"

"Yeah, yeah, get in line, then. Brother Maxwell's taking confessions - after he finishes his own," he said, then turned back to press his palms together in mock prayer. "I take the Lord's name in vain every day, I haven't been to Church for about six years now, and I still don't believe in God. Never have, never will... But at least I haven't lied. Amen."

At that moment, Books looked up from his seat on the ratty beanbag chair next to the couch, shook his head, and said, "You'll go to hell if you aren't careful, Duo."

Duo's head immediately turned to regard the person who had spoken. Books, who always had his head in an engineering manual, was clutching at the worn silver cross at his neck. He was a skinny guy; a deceptively delicate looking guy with shaggy brown hair and blue eyes. It had been a shock to Duo when they first met, because they looked remarkably alike.

If Duo had been older, and maybe cut his hair, there was the distinct possibility he would end up looking like Books. Well, maybe if also lost the smirk and adopted a less boisterous manner of speaking, of course.

They both even wore similar silver crosses. The difference, then, lay in the fact that Books did so out of spiritual piety, whereas Duo's cross was about remembrance and vengeance.

Books had been looking at him a lot more, lately. This time, Duo looked back. With his mouth set in a firm line and eyes slightly narrowed, he sized up the timid man. After a tense few seconds, Duo broke out into another grin. It was fairly insincere, but it wasn't like anyone could tell.

"Yeah, sorry about that, man. Didn't mean to offend you or nothin'. One of these days I'll learn to shut up and keep my blasphemy to myself, ha! So are we cool?"

Books had his eyebrows drawn down, and was looking very troubled. He opened his mouth, about to speak, when a knock sounded at the open door. Duo immediately looked up, seeing one of Professor G's aides standing by the door. The aide caught his eye and motioned for him to come over.

"I gotta go, guys. The Professor wants to see me about something."

Whatever Books had been about to say was forgotten as Duo launched himself off the couch and left the room.

Following the aide, he made his way down cool steel corridors. The hum of machinery was never far away. The farther he got from the crew's quarters, the more dreary the ship seemed to get, until it held nothing of life and was a thing of unyielding logic and science - the end product of the cold march of progress.

It was, Duo thought, just like the colonies. As seen from the surface, looking up at the holograms, they were replicas of the warm Earth. As seen from space, they were nothing but floating chunks of metal. Man-made. Despicable. Beautiful. Home.

He was a space brat. He would protect his home and his people, however cold their realities turned out to be. That was what he had to set his mind on every time Professor G called him in. It was never anything good, and it always tested his resolve to fight for the colonies.

The aide stepped aside once they were in front of one of the Professor's work rooms. He nodded and continued on along the hall. Duo was left standing in front of the door, staring at the keypad.

He quickly punched in his code and grinned widely as the door slid open. "Hey, Prof!"

The small, hunched figure of the Professor sat on the other side of a table with his back toward Duo. He grunted in greeting, though his eyes were glued to the row of computers that lined the back wall.

Seeing that the Professor was still gathering his thoughts, Duo decided to invite himself in. He made himself comfortable in an empty chair and up a situation that had been bothering him lately. "Say, Books has been looking at me strangely. Is he in on this?"

"Books?" The Professor finally turned around.

"Eh... Dunno his real name. Johnson? He's one of the engineers working on the new crane attachments for hauling space debris. You know, the one who's got no self-confidence and carries technical manuals around as a security blanket? That guy. Books."

"Ah, yes, Johnson has been recruited for the weapons development team. But Duo, I called you here because I have a mission for you. This is very important. The Sweepers are suspected of being involved with the mounting rebellion-"

"Yeah, 'cuz they _are_ involved, especially the L2 branch. Namely us."

"-and there's an Alliance spy among us."

Duo's eyes widened at the implication. "Well, damn."

"My thoughts exactly. I need you to take him out before he can deliver any information about Operation M or the Sweeper Group's involvement. We can't have them cutting off our contact with the Sweepers on Earth."

"Take him out? You want me to assassinate him."

Professor G gave him a look of admonishment. Duo had known what he was getting into when he joined up with the Sweepers. With the way he had hacked past their security system that fateful day he'd decided to take things into his own hands and stow away to a new life aboard this ship, there was no way they could let him run free with that kind of knowledge. For a stable job, meals, housing, he had sold away his right to cower before the "extra" jobs.

He wasn't privy to the inner workings of Operation M, but the Professor was convinced that they shared the same goal. For that reason, against the better judgment of his peers, the Professor gave Duo his trust on missions like these, with the implicit knowledge that each success would bring him closer and closer to the inner circle of Operation M, whatever that secret might be.

It was all this and more that the Professor conveyed to him with his stern stare, peering out over his pointed nose at his young protege. The short-statured old man was sharp in every way, from his hawkish facial features to his keen intellect, his wit, and his unrelenting press for results.

This was the biggest mission Duo had been trusted with so far. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself, and then took off the irreverent grin and met this stare with one of his own.

The Professor nodded slowly. It wasn't like the old man to give praise or anything soppy like that, but Duo knew he'd pleased his boss when the orders continued. The trust continued.

"I'm sure he'll be moving out tonight. There's a small Alliance outpost on this colony here." The Professor pulled up a map on the screen. "It's in the opposite direction of the downtown area. There's nothing in the way of entertainment on that side, so I want you to watch the Sweepers that leave the ship tonight. Intercept the spy before he can reach the outpost."

"Do I have to kill him, though? Not that I'm squeamish about death or anything, but can't we just lock him up?"

"If we knew who he was, you wouldn't even be needed for this, and if we had had more time, I would have given it to you. As it is, you're the only agent with us at the moment who's stealthy enough to find out, but I doubt you'd be able to drag him back unnoticed. You must stop him tonight by any means necessary."

"Yeah," he said, gulping down his insecurities. "Yeah, I gotcha. You ever gonna tell me what the Operation is all about, though?"

Professor G smiled grimly at that. "When the time comes, Duo. We've scheduled for it to commence next year. In the meantime..."

"Someone's gotta do the dirty work," he mumbled. "Might as well be me."

-oOo-

He could sense that he was being followed, and the man on his tail was skilled, no doubt about it. It must have been someone from the colonial resistance, who had started tagging along as soon as he left the Sweeper ship. That meant that the bastard would probably run off as soon as it was confirmed that he was headed for the Alliance base, and then he would be outed as a spy. Cursing under his breath, he veered off the path, choosing to try to shake his follower instead of heading directly for the base.

The rebel faction in the Sweepers didn't know who he was; he'd made sure of that. But this guy... He couldn't run the risk of the man on his tail having seen his face under one of the flickering streetlamps. No, he had to take care of this threat. That was what he decided to do as he ducked into a darkened alley, black coat streaming behind him. He pressed himself up against the brick wall, fingered his gun, and waited to ambush the rebel soldier.

Instead of the quiet shuffling of an amateur, however, the shadow that appeared at the dimly lit mouth of the alley approached completely silently. It was strange, though, that the shadowy figure made no effort to conceal himself physically. Easy target, right? He raised his gun, taking aim. And yet he wavered.

Who was this man? Had they known each other? Had they been "friends" of a sort in the Sweepers?

No. He couldn't be having these second thoughts; he had to ignore the shaking in his arms. Tightening his grip on the weapon, he took aim once more. However, it was at that moment that the other spoke up.

"Hey, man. What'cha doin' here? Ya get lost or something? The others are all at the bar on the other side of town, y'know."

That familiar, flippant tone could only belong to one person.

"_Duo_?" But it couldn't be him! That was impossible.

"The one and only," Duo said with a shrug. It was obvious, now, that the approaching man was too short to really be a man. With that height, and that boyish voice, there was only one Sweeper this could be.

It was Duo. That was great! And here he had been thinking it was someone dangerous. "Whoa there, kiddo," he said, stepping out from his hiding place in the corner. "I know you're pretty independent for your age, but you shouldn't be out this late. I almost thought you were some kind of stalker."

"Yeah, it is pretty late, isn't it? What are you going to tell me? That you're drug trafficking? Gonna meet a girl? Hand over the disk, man."

"W-what are you talking about?"

"You did a sloppy job hacking into the mainframe. I know you've got that disk, so just hand it over and come back quietly. Don't make me shoot you."

"No way. It can't be. It can't be _you_." He shook his head in disbelief. Anyone, but not Duo! He was prepared to slay any of his former comrades in order to protect himself, but he knew that popping off a kid would hurt a lot more. He shook his head again. And again. "You can't be part of Operation Meteor! You're just a kid! You don't know what you're getting yourself into!"

"Shut the hell up! You've got two choices: live or die. You either come back with me to the ship or I blow your brains out right here."

That was the ultimatum.

With that, he tightened his lips and leveled his gun at Duo. Kid or not, this was his opponent. He shot off a few bullets, which hit the brick wall as the kid dodged to the side, small body contorting as he crouched down and kicked upwards, lightning fast. Duo's leg caught him in the side just as he brought the gun down. The second volley was knocked off target and hit the dirty concrete, and then Duo was suddenly up in his face, hands wrapped around the base of the gun.

When the sickening crunch sounded, he knew his wrist was broken.

"Gaaah! Aaah!"

The gun fell to the ground and skidded next to Duo's feet. Keeping his grip on the ruined wrist, he kicked the gun into a darkened corner of the alley.

Duo lifted his own gun and saw the man cowering before him. He'd fallen to the ground, shuffled to the wall, and was now huddled in a pathetic mass, clutching at his wrist. It looked like a compound fracture - garish white bone poking out of a red stream, and all of this bathed in sickly yellow lamplight. In the man's eyes was the reflection of a nightmarish vision: a morbidly grinning priest who promised death instead of eternal life.

"Don't do this, Duo!"

"Holy Mary, Mother of our Lord, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death."

Bang.

Frankie slumped back against the blood-spattered wall, a bullet hole dead center on his forehead. He stared at Duo with unseeing eyes, accusing him of murder.

And he was right.

Duo bit back the scream that tried to escape his throat. He hurriedly closed the corpse's eyes and checked through its pockets for the disk.

The mission.

He had to keep his mind on the mission. First and foremost was retrieving the stolen information before it got into Alliance hands. His fingers brushed against a corner of plastic in the back pocket of Frankie's jeans. He pulled out the tiny disk and shoved it in his own shirt before resuming the body check in case there was something else that he missed.

Second mission objective: remove evidence of Sweeper involvement. When he got back to the ship, he'd send word to the Professor about a Cleanup in Aisle Four. Someone would get this body out of the way. In the morning, it would be like Frankie Ramirez never existed.

Let it never be said that the Sweepers didn't know how to clean.

-oOo-

When he stumbled back from his mission debriefing with the Professor, adrenalin finally winding down, Books was leaning against the wall at the entrance to the residential quarters. Duo glanced at him, nodded, and was about to pass when the man started speaking with a frown in his voice.

"There are no atheists in foxholes, kid."

Duo paused, unable to move forward. His mind was a mass of tangled thoughts about the impending war, the mysterious Operation M, and the roles he would play in both of them. In the distance was a looming battlefield, as vast and black as space. Duo was there as a soldier and as Death incarnate, pulling the shroud over the stars. Tonight had been his first kill, but he knew it was far from his last.

Books pushed up his glasses, then fiddled with the pages of the ever-present manual. He continued to stare at Duo all the while. With pity? Concern? Duo thought that he must have looked like a mess, with the perpetual devilish grin gone from his lips and with the way he was panting. He was probably headed for a panic attack.

Eyes dilated, face pale, heart racing. And all he could do was speak the truth, because Duo Maxwell never lies.

"I'm not an atheist. I'm the God of Death."

He strode off to the showers.

Quickly and efficiently, he stripped off his clothes and flung them onto a locker room bench, all the while mumbling curses under his breath. He fumbled his way into a stall and somehow managed to turn on the taps. Even after the last of the clothing had left his body, he still felt like he was wearing a heavy cloak of blood and guilt.

On one hand, a world that employed child soldiers had no right to call itself civilized. He ought to feel outraged at being a pawn in this game. But on the other hand, he chose this path of his own free will. He chose this. Duo knew that the colonies had to take all the soldiers they could get. It wasn't like they had the kind of training facilities the Alliance did. And anyway, he had the element of surprise because no one expected a child to be a trained killer.

Then it was back to the first side in this emotional tug-of-war. It didn't feel like it, but that was what he was: a child. Yet he already had to bear this burden. He was just fourteen, god damn it! Frankie had been right about that one thing. How much more would he have to do, then? How many more lives would he take before it was over?

God.

Damn.

With one hand braced against the slippery wall in front of him, his braid slipping over the shoulder to smack wetly against his skin, Duo leaned forward, lowering his head so that the hot spray pounded against the back of his neck; at the chain of the silver cross he still wore.

"Confiteor Deo omnipoténti, beátæ Mariæ semper Vírgini, beáto Michaéli Archángelo, beáto Ioánni Baptístæ, sanctis Apóstolis Petro et Paulo, ómnibus Sanctis, et vobis, fratres: quia peccávi nimis cogitatióne, verbo et ópere..."

He shuddered and pressed his forehead to the cool tiles.

"Mea culpa," he whispered as he struck his chest with a closed fist. What would Father Maxwell say if he knew his adoptive son was no longer just a thief, but a murderer?

"Mea culpa," he hissed this time, pounding over and in his heart. What would Sister Helen say if she knew her adoptive son had shot a man in the head while wearing this cross?

"Mea máxima culpa."

They wouldn't say anything because the dead can't speak.

With the third and final thud, Duo lifted his head and let the water flow across his face in place of the tears he didn't have the right to shed.

You are a murderer, Duo Maxwell. You are Death.


End file.
